This Game We Play
by EnjolrasLovedEponine
Summary: Enjolras has complete control, and Éponine thinks she can best him. But this is his game, and she must submit to his rules. Smut EnjolrasxÉponine, enjonine, e/é


Éponine sat in the dark—well for all she knew it was the dark—for the soft fabric of her blindfold covered her eyes. She had been sitting on a bed on her knees for some time, alone and abandoned, and she silently resented Enjolras for making her wait so long. But this was his routine, a game by his rules, and she was forced to participate or repercussions were in order, not that she minded either. Sometimes, when she felt absolutely uncontrollably lascivious, she would goad him into such punishments to afflict upon her person, but nothing that left her without want and release. Not even when the blood prickled to kiss the air at her flesh, not even then did she beg him to still his hand; it thrilled her as her masochistic delights did him, but now as she sat in the silence, in the stale air of his bedroom, waiting for him to return from wherever he went, she could feel herself growing impatient.

She tugged at her restraints, smooth silk lace that bound her at her wrists to the bedposts. Her shifted, her knees began to ache as she sat so still, her body hunkered over ever so slightly by her short bondings. Indeed, she was uncomfortable, the curve of her bony spine yearned for release of her position, and she growled in frustration, her brow furrowing beneath her blindfold. She cursed Enjolras and wished to be rid of the damned thing. She would prefer her sight than to uncurl her spine, than to relax her legs. She pulled again at her laced wrists, grunting as her efforts only served to tighten the fabric and squeeze her wrists.

She grit her teeth, hissing out a sigh. She shifted on the bed again, listening to it creak beneath her, waiting in the dark. She then turned her head upon hearing echoing footsteps behind the door and the bedroom door opened, sending in a cool breeze that made little hairs all over her naked body turn on end. Éponine turned back to face forward, the twisting of her body heightening her discomfort by her bindings. She imagined a satisfied look on Enjolras's face, a look of triumph as he hid his excitement. She was his prey for the taking, waiting and ready, and the bastard had the nerve to simply stand and stare at her in her discontent! She made a note of it to return the favor and with vigor.

Enjolras stared at Éponine, the candlelight of the room exaggerating the dark shadows all over her pale form, her raven hair parted to her from to reveal the curve of her spine. She looked bonier, shadows at her ribs more prominent than when he last saw her over a month ago. And as he stared at this lovely caged rose, he could feel the blood rush to his phallus, the creepy signs of his erection becoming more prominent as he stared at her.

Éponine breathed deeply and could feel her ebony locks dangling in front of her, leaving her back nearly bare and tickling her breasts. Her skin crawled as the footsteps approached her, and she struggled in her quiet bitterness as a smile that threatened to crack the mask of indifference she had crafted to spite him for making her wait.

Her heartbeat quickened as she heard the rustling of clothes and the crumpled sound they made as they fell to the wood floor. The weight of the bed shifted as Enjolras crawled onto the bed beside her, careful not to touch her which only served to irritate her more. And he knew it too, unable keep the grin from his face.

His light fingers brushed back the hair covering her ears. "Be patient." He whispered, his breath cool at her ear that sent an uncontrollable shudder rippling through her. He thought to kiss and bite her ear, for to see her in such a vulnerable, submission state—he desperately wanted to toy with her. But he knew her tricks, every little mischievous motion to lay the cards in her favor. Even binding her with lace and blindfolding her was her very own idea, this masochistic vixen. But she cannot play both roles of controller and submitter. So he took it and will continue to take it upon himself to let her suffer with her decisions. Besides, this is his game, and she must learn the rules.

Éponine could _feel_ his wolfish grin, and she clenched her jaw in response. His touched ghosted across her skin, an afterthought, leaving her flesh wanting. She wanted so much so that her skin fought to rise in response to his lightness, to feel him more, to feed the greedy flame her body craved. His fingers trailed down the line of her jugular, down her pale skin to her collarbone. He traced the bone back and forth, and she knew his eyes were on her, watching for the slightest hint of a change in her demeanor, but she refused to break do easily. She was no quivering amateur, not any more.

Enjolras touched her breasts, feeling the soft mounds, careful to avoid the sensitive nipple that housed a spark of pleasure. Hr watched her as her lip twitch, a line at her forehead appearing, and he imagined her frustration. He relished such look. Perhaps she wished for the freedom of her hands, to force him, to reclaim sovereignty over him despite their arrangements, and although she was careful to hide her frustrations, he could see through how careful she was to conceal her irritation. And he loved to watch as he broke through her facade.

He was agonizingly slow, yes, but she had suffered worse at his hand, and while this should be nothing more than a mere trifle, Éponine could not deny that she had been starved for his affections. How long had it been since she'd seen him last? Weeks? A month? More? Regardless, she wanted him, more than she'd like to admit. But still he was so _slow_. His fingers abandoned her breast altogether, touching the shallow rises and dips of her ribcage.

Enjolras frowned at the dark shadows of her ribs. "How long has it been since you've eaten?" He asked with more concern than he preferred to reveal.

She swallowed, closing her eyes behind her blindfold, preferring not to think of it lest the her desire be destroyed.

Enjolras look into her face, displeased with her answer, but still he continued on, though with some reluctance. Éponine opened her eyes to the black of the blindfold, wondering if her silence bothered him, because now his ghosting touch meant to agonize her from before turned harder. Not that he was forceful, no that was not it. More so that his touch was less to tease her, more rushed and heated, as if her lack of answer bothered him enough to forget the game he played. And then his touch stopped entirely, and she felt herself growing colder.

"I'm all right," she assured him. "Don't stop now."

"Éponine—"

"I am all right." She insisted, "Don't let our time be spoiled." Éponine then wiggled her hips, sure to turn his attentions to the matter at hand. "I'll beg as much as you like."

She thought for a moment then that he wouldn't give in, that he'd press such insipid matters and ruin what these long days of separation had been leading to. But instead Enjolras smiled at her eagerness. He pressed his cool lips to the nape of her neck as his arms wrapped around her, holding her midsection from behind. She smirked, glad to have avoided a rather unpleasant conversation. He held her close, pressing her bare back against his smooth chest and stomach, feeling her warmth, taking in her scent, musky rainwater. He missed it, brushing his face into her tangled hair. He kissed her neck up and down, feeling her stiffen slightly in his arms. Enjolras grinned at her response, a flash of mirth and hint of mischief as well, and then he bit down on her shoulder. At this she could not stifle a yelp of surprise and pleasure, and Enjolras suck and licked her shoulder, tasting blood.

Éponine shuddered, noticing then how warm and wet that bite had left her. The pain of it was tantalizing, and Enjolras smoothed the bloodied mark over with his tongue, kissed it, and moved on with her sharp, metal taste still in his mouth. It fueled his own erection in fact, and he found himself eager too and just as impatient. So he shifted back, giving him the space required to kiss her neck, down her spine, and licking her spine all the way back up and down again.

Éponine struggled to swallow the gasp that snaked up her throat, feeling each kiss and lick of his tongue that warmed her stomach with pleasurable heat. His hands following lower along her sides as his lips reached lower and lower, each kiss burning her flesh, agonizing excitement creeping back into life that swelled at her genitals. She nearly forgotten how oddly sensitive her spine was, but of course, Enjolras could never forget this bizarre thrill of hers.

Enjolras then moved from her, shifting and twisting as she moved with the bed. He lay on his back, feeling the discomfort if his trouser he still wore. So he unbuckled the button at the hem, allowing for some space for his throbbing manhood. But he could not focus on himself at the moment. Éponine and her slicked, wet vulva were just above his head and he placed his hands at her thighs, just bellow her buttocks. She stiffened at his touch and then realized what he wanted from her. She rose on her knees, feeling the ache of them, the soreness in her muscles, but refused to complain. Enjolras shift below were, wriggling as he moved to position himself between her warm thighs just below her womanhood. He then as he guided her back down, she nearly jumped again in surprise. But with his hands at her thighs holding her in place along with her lace bondage, very little room for movement was offered to her.

Enjolras usually would not have been able to contain himself, and he would have given in to his desire to devour Éponine in all her glory. But this was for her torture and his delight, and he needed to keep his composer as the game master. So he gingerly kissed her inner thigh and then her folds before parting them. He felt her shudder above him at the coolness of his breath, and his tongue prodded and lapped at her clitoris, licking in slow, deliberate circles about the little nub. Éponine could feel herself growing wetter with each swipe of his tongue, and Enjolras felt it too. His trouser were growing more and more unbearably tight.

Éponine held her tongue with each lick, refusing to give him the satisfaction of knowing the immense pleasure he was giving her, of letting him know how much she truly enjoyed and missed his talented tongue. She would make due on her promise, yes, but only when he deserved it. After all he had made her wait for him. So instead of giving in to her voice. she settled with curling her hands into fists, wishing now more than anything that her hands were untied to bury her fingers in his golden hair.

He was diligent, patient to draw her out. His licks were soft to tickle and tease, to gently dance about her core. He wanted her to beg as she had promised. But not yet, she wouldn't grant him his long sought-after desire so easily. She was no fair and innocent bourgeoisie that would buckle above him, that would melt at his touch. No, she had far more grit than such simple maidens and all the more to lose.

But her body was betraying her and Enjolras felt it too as her body shuddered with the coming release, each loving pass of his tongue sending shocks of pleasure through her veins. Such wonderful torment made her forget the pain in her legs and back. He probed at her clitoris, and she bit her lip, struggling to bury the lewd noises that scratched at her throat. He was listening for her, testing and teasing, and Éponine could feel herself inching closer and closer, her thighs beginning to quiver with the rest of her body.

And then the warmth of his mouth was gone along with his hands at her thighs, and her elation retreated with him. He was still there, his breath at her thigh, and he refused to move. Her engorged lower regions throbbed in pleasured protest and her mind scream for release. But still no swipe of his tongue came, no gentle brush of his fingertips, nothing.

"You bastard," Éponine barked.

"Say it." There was a sharp click of his tongue as he spoke.

She shook her head, tugging on her laced restraints again. "You don't deserve it."

There was a moment of silence, and then Éponine felt his wetted finger at her clitoris. His touch jolted her senses and sent her mind into frenzy as he rubbed. She had expected more of a fight from him, to rise to her challenge. She wiggled against his finger, struggling to stifle the moan that threatened to breech.

"Don't I?" His voice was thick and smooth, and Éponine could hear the confidence in it.

"The bastard!" Éponine thought. This was his game after all, and he had long accepted her challenge.

Enjolras smiled beneath her, watching her wiggle above him, watching her fight the pleasure his skilled hands relentlessly delivered.

He watched her as she clenched her teeth, whining. And then she let out a breathy gasp and groan his finger alit the embers of her center ablaze. She could no longer contain herself and she moaned, breathing out, " _Enjolras_."

Enjolras's heart swelled with pure affection, his smile that of satisfaction, and wasted no time and lapped at her with wild abandon, pressing into the tiny bundle of nerves and sucking at her folds, his nose buried in curls of her dark, course hair. Her lips parted and gasps and groans escaped from deep within her lungs. Damn her pride. She missed this, missed him. Groaning out his name again, she moved her hips to the pace of his tongue, grinding against the force of his mouth, and Enjolras moved a bit lower, replacing his mouth at her clit with just his finger.

Her legs shook, and then the air from her lungs was sucked from her mouth, unable to gasp, to moan, to breathe, her lips parted but nothing escaped as her body tightened. Enjolras licked at her center, tasting her flowing essence, and then he dipped his tongue inside her, all the while violently rubbing her clitoris as she rode him out. He thrusted his tongue in and out of her, pressing his lips to her vagina as her orgasm washed over her. Her legs convulsed, and her lungs burned for air as she breathed, her orgasm tearing through her as Enjolras devoured her with his tongue and mouth.

He remained beneath her until she was spent, licking and tasting all that made her distinctly Éponine, eager to taste every drop on his tongue. And once she was finished, he removed himself from under her. She remained on her knees, and he wiped his mouth with his arm. Lust driven and animalistic, he tore of his trousers, throwing them carelessly to the side. He quickly untied the knot that bound her to the bedpost, while keeping the knot the bound her hands and wrists. And before she could relax, with one arm at her abdomen, Enjolras scooped her up, and she yelped in surprise.

"Enjolras, the blindfold—My hands—"

A kiss to her jaw was his response as he lay back on the bed and her on top of him. He spread her legs apart, Éponine felt his hand resting on the curls of her dark pubic hair. He pressed a finger inside of her, her walls still so slick, her body still eager and wanting. He thrusted his finger within her, feeling the delicious heat of her, and she hissed at the sudden intrusion. She slowly sighed as he thrusted his finger within her, stretching her until she was ready for a second finger. Enjolras kissed her ear, behind her jaw, her hair, his member aching for her as he rapidly moved his fingers within her. She felt no discomfort at his touch, only a friction that warmed her insides, sparking pleasure from the tips of her toes to her center.

And then his fingers retreated from her and she felt cool and empty. She did not have to wait long, however, as she could feel Enjolras's hard phallus pressing against her. She gasped as Enjolras slowly pushed his way inside her, barring her teeth and hissing, listening to Enjolras as he gasped from the warmth of her. He panted and she panted, and then he slowly began to thrust. She moved with him as best she could, meeting his thrusts and rotating her hips to please herself and him.

With his left hand, Enjolras lightly massaged her with the tips of his fingers from her naval to the line of her pubic hair and up to her sternum. She was warm against him, warm around him, and he drank in the scent of her, rainwater and sex, and he admired the flushness of her cheeks. Her lips parted as she breathed, and he watched as her bosom rose and sank. Enjolras pressed his lips to her neck, not quite a kiss, just warm lips. He then took her face in his hand, pulling her to him and kissing her, mouths open and greedy, tongues fighting for dominance. She tasted herself on him and her own taste both repulsed and thrilled her. They licked every crevice within each other's mouths, and their lips only parted for breath when Enjolras allowed it. And when he did, Éponine found herself panting, breathless still from such passion, as Enjolras buried his face into the nape of her neck again, all the while he continued to thrust and thrust.

As she lay in Enjolras's arms, a doll at his mercy, Éponine struggled to keep herself from becoming a mewling mess as pleasure racked through her. The pit of her stomach burned with ecstasy that seeped to her fingertips, and each thrust stoked the wildfire within her core. She gasped and shuddered when Enjolras grabbed her breast, massaging the soft, pale mound before toying with her dark erected nipple. She bit her lip so hard she swore she tasted blood, wishing she could tear away her blindfold to see him. But not knowing, not seeing him was part of the thrill, and as he continued his swift thrusts, she let out a sharp groan. As he gripped her breast with his right hand, he wrapped his arm about his abdomen with his left, pressing her back to him as held her. He grunted, leaning his head into her neck as he buried his cock with each rhythmic thrust. Éponine did her best to keep to his pace but the task grew too difficult as his breath ghosted over her ear, as he moaned softly just for her.

"Éponine," he whispered.

His hips slapped against her, their bodies slick with sweat and the smell of sex.

"Choke me." She whispered.

Enjolras's eyes widened in surprise at such a request but was quick to comply, and he wondered how long his little masochist had kept this secret. Nevertheless, he pulled out of her, and she sighed from the lack of such lovely fullness. He laid her on the bed, and she lifted her laced hands above her head, smiling smugly as she knew the effects her body had on him. Enjolras immediately latched himself to her breast, sucking at her nipple and licking it as he squeezed her other breast. Her grin was absolutely devilish, and Éponine knew he could not keep himself from her. He licked around the nub in swift circles and sucked on it hard before quickly pulling away. With his hands on the bed at opposite sides of her head, he leaned down at kissed her again, hard and passionate before pulling back. He guided his erection to her entrance again and pushed himself inside of her. She listened with glee as he gasped.

He did not wait long to move within her, and she gasped, her pleasure spiking at his continued thrusts that dug deeper and deeper within her. He buried himself all the way to the base of his cock, and Enjolras groaned out as she did. She could feel his thrusts become more erratic as he ground himself against her, and then to her delight? his hand, soft and strong, clasped about her throat. Hesitant at first, he squeezed, his fingers and thumb pressing against her jugular veins, and Èponine smiled. Her smile pleasantly surprised him, but he dared not add force. But he was too gentle for her. She could still breath with ease.

"Harder." She demanded, her voice stern even as it cracked from the constriction at her throat.

Enjolras replied with a gasp and stronger thrusts as he pounded against her, as if her very demand and the act itself threatened to push him over the edge. But he withheld as he continued to thrust, reaching a spot within her that made her see stars. In her bliss, she felt his hand tighten with enough force to bruise, and Éponine wheezed as she tried to breathe very little air was offered to her, and her body tingled until it burned with sheer pleasure. She could not scream as she came undone, her mouth open in a beautiful "o" shape and no sounds escaped. Enjolras grunted and groaned out her name at such an intoxicating sight and did not relinquish his hold, even as he found his release with one final thrust. The lack of air to her lungs fogged her mind, resulting in an orgasm that caused her whole body to quiver and convulse. They laid there, still and stiffen in their overwhelming pleasure until they were both utterly spent.

Enjolras slid out of her and collapsed on top of her, releasing her throat. She sucked in a harsh breath, her chest heaving for air as her head grew dizzy at the sudden rush of oxygen. She swallowed and panted, and Enjolras watched her as he too struggled to even his breathing. He then removed the blindfold from her face before kissing her. Their breath mixed in puffs of air, and he rest his head momentarily against hers. He kissed the little mole above her brow and then untied her hands, tossing away both the blindfold and lace.

Enjolras then rolled off of her, but kept his arm about her midsection. "What was that?" He asked as he relaxed his breathing.

Éponine smirked and shrugged nonchalantly, "Surely you're not surprised."

He was but mildly, because he knew Éponine well enough to not give up her secrets at once. And surely it was something about her he'd never forget.

Éponine looked at him and smiled, rolling onto her side to fully face him. He smiled back at her, expecting a kiss.

"It's my turn next," she said. "My game, my rules."

He smirked, "Of course. How else would we play the game? But before that." He paused as he got out of bed, and Éponine arched a brow in confusion.

He looked back at her, his smile genuine.

"Let me cook for you."


End file.
